Sometimes, Morality Sucks
by HalleyComet07
Summary: F!Hawke. She had never thought of him more than a friend. But when she gets tired of Ander's 'gloom and doom' personality she decides to consider other options. Now Updated. The story hasn't changed. I just corrected a few things.


It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Over and over again she had professed her love for another man. He knew that she told her lover she would stay with him through thick and thin; told him that he would be all she needed.

And yet, she found herself in this situation. He was a friend-had always been _just_ a friend. He had made it known to her a while ago that he wanted her-wanted her to touch and worship him like she did her lover. And on that night, she sat and listened to him. When he was finished explaining himself, she told him that she would never be his. She loved another man. Honestly, the thought had never even occurred to her. She would've never thought he would peak her interest in such a way. Many women, and some men, found him very attractive but he just never caught her eye. It must have been something about the way he made her laugh. In the past, she would laugh and joke with her lover; but he was just so _depressing_ lately. She hadn't seen a smile on his face in weeks.

She wasn't even sure why she was _doing_ this; if she could even go _through_ with it. Admittedly, he had made her curious about him. She wondered how his movements were different-how many things he could teach her. And better yet, how many things she could teach _him_. He intrigued her.

Earlier, when the sun was showing signs of setting for the evening, she went to The Hanged Man to meet her friends for their nightly card games. Her lover wasn't going to be there. She knew that he would spend all night aiding refugees in his Darktown clinic. Her other friends were otherwise _engaged_. She didn't want to ask details. And it just so happened that she was alone, sitting with her friend of six years. Not really wanting to play cards with just the two of them, they decided to sit and talk.

Everything they said that night was all in good fun. They didn't take it seriously. But, towards the end of their evening, something changed. His voice had become rougher, even deeper. He looked into her eyes and seemed to read her thoughts. It was as if he knew she was thinking _it_ too. Her eyes always were a dead give away into what she was thinking or feeling.

When had she even _started_ thinking it? Did it even matter? She couldn't blame the rat piss ale that was served because neither one of them had anything to drink.

Still, as much as her emotions warred within herself her feet were still finding their way to his estate. One foot in front of the other. A steady beat that coincided with the pounding of her heart. Her resolve was fading but that didn't concern her body. It was seemingly moving of its own accord.

Her mind flashed back to something he said during one of his attempts to convince her. "If you want me to rub my hands and mouth all over you so that way you can blame it all on me, that can be done." Just the mere mentioning of his hands and mouth exploring and tasting her body made her shiver. A jolt passed through her body stemming from her clit and pooling into her lower abdomen. He noticed her reaction before she could hide it. A corner of his mouth upturned into a wicked smile. Maybe that was the moment when her body decided to betray her.

She was in Hightown now, walking through the empty Merchant's Guild. Halfway there. He would be waiting for her, of that she was certain. When he left the tavern ahead of her, he said over his shoulder, "The decision is up to you. I will be at my estate with the door open to you. I will make this easy for you, Hawke. All you need to do is show up, and say 'okay.' I will do the rest," and with that he left.

She hated him for making this so easy for her; but she loved it even more. It made her want to feel him-to touch and explore.

Hawke passed the stairs leading to the Viscount's Estate. She noticed her breathing had become labored; however, she knew it wasn't from the walk. All of her senses seemed to be heightened in her wanting state. The air was cool and crisp. The sky was clear from any lingering clouds and the stars twinkled at her as if in encouragement. Hawke's footsteps, any other night, would have been silent. Tonight, however, it seemed she was as loud as a herd of cattle.

Now she was making her way past the Chantry. A few of the sisters stood outside with their heads down in silent prayer. Someone had told her once that the brothers and sisters of the Chantry often felt closer to the Maker if they prayed outside.

She started up the stairs leading to the Hightown Estates. She was nearly there now. Her heart began to beat faster; and suddenly felt she couldn't get enough air in her lungs. Slowing down, but never stopping, she took a deep breath. It seemed to clear her head somewhat and she continued on her journey.

Hawke passed her estate. The candles in the sitting room were still lit. Bodahn must have left them burning for when she or her lover returned.

His door was just up ahead. She could see it. Just like any other time, judging from the outside, his estate seemed abandoned. The thought made her smile. She knew he was in there, waiting.

Despite the moral war going on her head, she steadily approached his door.

This was it. This was the only thing standing between her and the man who, just hours before, began to peak her interest.

She turned the knob and as expected, it moved with little resistance. It opened in front of her revealing the dilapidated state of his mansion. Hawke stepped inside the door and it closed behind her with a loud 'thud' that seemed to echo through the whole estate. Or maybe that's just how it sounded to her. She took a few more steps inside, shuffling her feet. Shuffling her feet? She has always been so sure of herself. She hasn't dragged her feet since she was fearful of her mother's switch.

Taking a moment to regain her composure, Hawke straightened herself up, and with an heir of confidence she didn't feel, continued into the next room and up the stairs.

She stood in the doorway of his study.

"Fenris," she breathed.

He was standing in front of the fireplace, hand on the mantle, staring into the orange flames. His breathing was ragged, like hers. He was still wearing his harsh, spiky armor. Without looking up, he breathed her name in reply, "Hawke."

Lithely, she made her way to the table sitting close to the side of the room, and leaned on it. They have had many conversations sitting at this very table. One of her eyebrows raised at the thoughts now swimming through her mind. She was thinking of different uses for this shabby, wooden table.

Moving her eyes from the piece of furniture to him, she took in his appearance. In the darkness of the room his lyrium brands seemed to glow. The flickering light of the fire cast shadows across his seemingly stoic face. They danced around his cheekbones, his jaw; they played on his neck. Without thinking, Hawke took a sharp intake of air and unconsciously licked her lips.

She could swear he chuckled, hearing her reaction.

"Fenris," she breathed again.

This time, he turned away from the fireplace but remained planted across the room from her. Silently, he waited for her response.

"Okay," she told him.


End file.
